Page 3 of Make Me, Break Me

Wouldn’tlose her.

She seared herself soul deep in me, and there was no way my unhealthy little obsession could let her go. I’d fallen well out of the realm of lust and into love with my friendly Friday night booty call, and she wasn’t having a bar of it.

To the point she once threw a textbook my way in the middle of campus and told me she hated me just to prove to herself that she could.

But Zin forgot that hate sex is the best.

Fuck, I could almost taste her brand of bliss on my lips, mingling with the sweat and a trickle of blood that dripped into my mouth as I roared my victory for the crowd’s approval.

Then I saw it and my breath hitched. Well, her. Dressed in tight, black leather pants and a red bustier that practically spilled her breasts over the top. Her long, glossy raven hair tumbled over her shoulders.

Zinzi’s in the crowd.

Watching me.

But she couldn’t be. She didn't know I fought, and despite my craving to grant her access to my twisted heart I wasn’t about to divulge my innermost and highly illegal activities to the rumor mill of the marketing student body on campus. No one knew how to spin shit better than that group. Coming from a law major, that was saying a lot.

I searched the crowd for her again, but Zinzi’s apparition had disappeared. My heart pounded, but I couldn't spot a single glossy black curl or the red bustier anywhere. I shook my head, bringing myself back to the present where Jericho unlocked the cage and let me out.

The saggy bastard counted off a thick wad of bloodstained bills and stuffed them into my hand while I scanned the crowd. When he was done I walked past him without a word and over to where I left my change of clothes earlier.

We both knew I’d be back the next week.

For now…I got to go home and torture myself with the obsessive little image of a girl who hated me enough to fuck me like she cared.

CHAPTER THREE

ZINZI

I ran through my schedule in my head as I left my last class for the afternoon. My eleven a.m. coffee didn’t make it through the afternoon and three p.m.itis hit me hard. I had a two hour gap to fill with options to either head back to my room and bore myself silly before my six o’clock class—who sets those?—aim for the bar, which was never a good choice in the afternoon, at least for me, or hit the library.

My lecturer gave me a grand total of three new assignments to complete by the end of the month, so that last was a no-brainer.

Library it is.

I took the next branching path that led past the common where a colorful array of college students lounged on the manicured lawn, studying, chatting…flirting.

My jeans seemed too tight as I walked. The air wasn't muggy but I struggled past the amorous students who filled every inch of the grassed space. My hand clamped tight on my laptop strap as I prayed I didn’t see anyone I knew. However social I might be in marketing class, I certainly didn't maintain many friendshipsoutside my lectures apart from my roommate and a couple of dormmates, and let’s be honest—those were by necessity.

Marketing students and business majors were meant to be one of the party units on campus, but my social life was the equivalent to the history department—dry with a little eruption every now and then. Those came in the form of Dex’s hot-blooded male body once a week to keep any untimely urges in check.

My one regular weekly social date with Dex made him the perfect fuck buddy of choice. He took my mind off everything that left me jittery with the sort of anxiety that would cripple most of the population, and the man could flirt like he was born to the skillset.

And fuck like it, too.

Plus, a once-a-week fuck date with him meant that I didn’t need to pretend to like him hanging off me every other day through the week and be all mundane like everyone else. We filled a need for each other, appreciated each other's bodies, and got the hell out of each other’s way until the next Friday rocked around.

Rinse, repeat.

A message I kept telling my body, my heart and my brain whenever they decided he wanted more out of our hot blooded male of choice. Because that couldn’t be. Dex would break more than hearts if I let him, and I knew firsthand what that felt like, along with a few other things, like stitches.

Never. Again.

Not ever.

My vow against campus players held strong for my last few years at Rippton U. I could hold out a little longer until I graduated.

No matter how many times my roommate herded me to frat parties on the weekends, they just weren't my style. Beingin a room full of drunken people in various states of nudity and supposedly easy bantering freaked me out on a deep level. Dancing didn’t favor the uncoordinated, either. Maybe PTFBHBD—post traumatic frat boy heartbreak disorder was a real thing. I snorted and earned myself more than one sideways glance as I skulked around the commons.

---